Revenge
by DIY Sheep
Summary: Crank up the cattle prods and bring on the angst: Docter Eight


Disclaimer: I paid a lot of money for that rotten 'Doctor Who - The Legend' book and I deserve my revenge.  
  
Read this bit - it is meant to be witty. I am no Oscar Wilde, but I like to think I can turn the odd phrase now and then.  
  
History:  
  
For all things (good, bad or otherwise) come from somewhere. and history is what grounds us so we know where we are.  
  
Oh that sounds wanky ('wanky' = Australian colloquialism meaning not all that intelligent with a few colourful metaphors thrown in for good measure) does it? Well how do you start if you have no starting point then smarty pants? How do you get to point B, if there is no A?  
  
And yes I am getting to the point. This stuff is important. Perhaps you have never heard of Big Finish or even realise the good Doc is up to incarnation number Nine.  
  
Perhaps you, dear reader, knew of the Doctor as a hypo git with lots of teeth and a penchant for jelly babies, and are completely bamboozled by this whole thing. As the seventh Doctor once said: 'The universe is my chess board and I have lost all the checkers' or stick with us, it is worth it.  
  
Ohh err: This one is nasty. What happens is this. they land on a really dingy planet that looks like a gravel pit, go exploring some even dingier caves for no apparent reason at all then Peri falls down a hole and screams a bit. er well perhaps not. Actually this is one of those wierdo alternative what if/doesn't need a happy ending/move over Kate Orman/crank up the cattle prod sort of stories.  
  
And thanks to Drox for the name: Perfectly tepid.  
  
Think Doctor Number Eight - well he is the best one to beat up isn't he? Young, healthy and fit. As to the reason why? Use your imagination and think dark thoughts - it is more fun that way.  
  
REVENGE?  
  
Mmmm, but by whom I ponder?  
  
Any thoughts or suggestions on the matter gratefully accepted. Suggestions will only be accepted every second Thursday between elevenses and lunch. Please enclose a self-addressed envelope and I will send you a cucumber sandwich.  
  
SO THE STORY BEGINS WITH A FLOURISH OF LESS THAN THEATRICAL PROPORTIONS.  
  
Actually it begins with Drox.  
  
Who  
  
Did not know of many things and we will come to know of these things of which he did not know quite soon - so bear with me on this one. As the Doctor might have been heard to remark 'trust me, I'll explain everything later'. Just think big, green and lumpy. And do not whatever you think Shrek - oh dear I have put an image into your head haven't I? Well get it out of there - quick - don't think about pink elephants. ....  
  
Drox prodded it with the end of his baton, but it did not stir. Was it dead? He charged up the baton and shocked the creature, watching it writhe disinterestedly, because the one thing Drox knew of intimately was disinterest (that, incidentally - if you are interested in the nature of disinterest, was why he had been hired).  
  
No. It was still alive.  
  
He frowned at the creature as it lay on the floor, whimpering quietly as it twitched with the residual electricity.  
  
The creature didn't seem to be as it had been before. In the beginning, however long ago that had been (it might have been years, it might have been centuries - as back then Drox did not know of time) when he came to feed the creature it would strain at its chains and make strange unintelligible noises. But now, whenever now was (Drox did not know when now was as at this point Drox still did not know very much of time), it just lay there on the floor until it was forced into activity by a kick or a blow. He knew it reacted to pain, but then again so would a blind vole if you cleaved in two. ...  
  
He checked the chains around its wrists and ankles. If Drox had been a philosopher or a cat he might have pondered (but he knew nothing of emotion or of curiosity so he didn't) why the creature needed such heavy chains to bind it. It was a fragile thing. He could have snapped its 'neck'? without effort'. If he had been more savvy or perhaps a literary critic for The Times he would have thought the word 'overkill' was appropriate, but Drox knew nothing of overkill, literary criticism, irony or The Times. All he knew was that his task was to make sure the creature was bound and could not escape - and that was what he would do, so he did it.  
  
The creature had been struggling against its bindings - again. It did not seem to care that this was harmful to it. Blood had flowed from the welts around its wrists where the chains had rubbed against the skin.  
  
It would wrench again and again at the chain from the wall until it would collapse with exhaustion. In Drox's very limited opinion it really was a very stupid creature. Did it not know that the chain was stronger than it was and would not break free of the wall no matter how many seconds/minutes/hours/years/centuries it spent pulling at it? But then again it did seem to be a stupid creature so perhaps it didn't.  
  
Personally he did not see what was so interesting about the other side of the cell that the made the creature so desperate to go over there. To Drox it looked remarkably like this side of the cell, but as such aesthetic matters were above Drox he didn't let it worry him too much.  
  
Drox sighed and slapped the creature across the face.  
  
"No. Bad," he said as he rattled the chains in front of its face. "Do - not - pull - hurt."  
  
After being hit the creature had curled into as much of a ball as the chains would allow. It knew Drox. Drox was the one who fed it. Drox was the one who talked to it. Drox was the one who hit it.  
  
Sometimes, thought Drox, as Drox was prone to the odd stray thought now and then, the creature seemed almost to understand him. Sometimes he thought he saw some intelligence behind its big gooey blue eyes. But then he knew that was impossible as he himself had seen them rendered useless. He had seen the creature scream as it had happened. If Drox had ever considered almost anything at all Drox might have wondered if this action had hurt. But Drox did not know of considering so he did not wonder why the creature had screamed as its eyes were taken.  
  
All he understood was that the creature could not see. If Drox had a sense of irony, which he didn't, he would have thought: 'Not anymore sweet pea'.  
  
Drox did not think about this for a while.  
  
Then Drox hit it again for good measure.  
  
..  
  
Drox did not know he knew of those things, but unknowingly he did know. He knew the creature was sobbing. He watched it as its chest rose and fell and it pathetically waved its limbs about dragging the chains with them.  
  
He had come down to feed it and found it like this. Sobbing in the dark, but then again thought Drox absentmindedly, to the creature it was always dark. If Drox had a sense of humour, which he did not, he might have found that statement funny. Get it: Dark - blind - can't see? Or perhaps not?  
  
Drox watched the creature at his feet.  
  
Eventually it struck out and clutched his ankle - if Drox had such a thing that is what it would be called, and held tight - grateful to feel another living being in all its solitude?  
  
Drox felt the creature around his leg. It was warm and he could feel its blood, pumped by two hearts, pulsing through, what Drox didn't realise, as Drox knew nothing of blood, were its veins.  
  
Then Drox was sure he heard a voice. It only said one word: 'Please.'  
  
But Drox, who knew nothing of pleasantries, ignored it. 


End file.
